A Secret Soul
by Soo W
Summary: *COMPLETE* Kate and Angel and a lot of soul and shanshu. Enjoy!
1. Friends

STORY NAME: A Secret Soul

AUTHOR'S NAME: Soo W

DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to WB/Joss/Fox etc, but certainly not to me. I'm only writing this for fun and therapy, and because I miss Kate already.

PAIRING: A/Kate

SPOILERS: Take most of A s2 / BTVS s5 as read - Buffy is gone but Pylea and s3 have not happened

SHORT SUMMARY: A sequel to Descent (see below). What with the curse and neither of them being the best communicator in the world, Angel's tentative relationship with Kate seems to be stalling. Then events take a sudden turn for the worse and change their lives forever.

DISTRIBUTION: You want it? You got it. Just let me know.

FEEBACK: Pleasepleaseplease... it's the only way I know if it's good or bad! 

COMMENTS: For everyone out there who thought that Descent should have ended with some Angel/Kate goodness. :-) You might want to read Descent first, but it's not totally necessary as this will stand on its own if you take it on trust that Kate and Angel are an item and Angel has some long, lost relatives. If you want to read it, Descent is on my web site at http://www.icedplum.com/ with the rest of my scribbles.

A Secret Soul 1/? 

"And he thought she knew his secret soul,   
and would have stretched out his arms to her in longing,   
for she made him see in his mind's eye   
a closed casement in a high turret,   
a private curtained bed where he would be most himself."  
[From Possession, by A S Byatt]

"You don't need to spill. Not beans anyway." Lorne grimaced, "And spare me the singing. I could sense you coming a mile away."

Angel's jaw dropped, and wavered slightly as he tried to think of a rejoinder. Then he slumped, defeated, into a chrome and black leather chair. He rested his arms on the table and stared morosely at its blank, shining surface.

"He's still not budging, huh?" Cordy asked.

Kate shook her head and slowly stirred her cappuccin. She watched Cordelia thoughtfully.

She was grateful for the lunch invite - anything that built closer ties with Angel's team was welcome. And she and Cordy seemed to be edging tentatively towards real friendship lately. But now she was getting the distinct impression that the purpose behind the outing was to pump her for information. Ordinarily, she would have refused to disclose any details, but then, she did need to unburden to someone. 

Why not a mutual friend? Why not Cordelia?

"I'm going crazy." Angel confided to the sympathetic green face across the table. Lorne waved over his shoulder and a large bourbon appeared in front of his companion. Angel hesitated for a moment, before apologising.

"I'm sorry. That stuff doesn't work on me." 

But Lorne pushed the glass a little closer, and he sighed and took a large gulp before continuing. "I want her so badly, and yet every time we're alone together ..."

"You get cold feet. More cold than normal, even?" Lorne nodded. "Well, it's only to be expected, sweetie." 

"Has he said anything?" Kate looked at Cordy, silently imploring her to tell the truth. 

"Well..." Cordy dabbed her mouth with a tissue and pressed her lips together before answering. "He hasn't said anything, as such. But this morning he was moody enough for six souled vampires, so we kind of thought ... he probably wasn't getting any. If you'll excuse the expression." Cordy gave Kate a rueful smile. "How long has it been now?"

Kate grimaced. "It's three months since we planted that evidence and the police stopped looking for Angel in connection with the murders."

"Three months!" Cordy whistled. "Time flies ... except, it probably hasn't, from your perspective."

Kate smiled ruefully. "You can say that again." 

"You walk a thin line," Lorne seemed to be warming to his task as he ordered Angel's fifth drink. "If it all goes non-linear, you could end up eating the lovely girl."

Seeing his companion's tortured face reminded Lorne of a man tied to a rack, being given a last agonising turn. He continued hastily, "Maybe that wasn't the right expression to use. What I meant to say was, you're worried about plunging in and what might come of it."

Angel's head fell forward onto his folded arms. "I thought communication was supposed to be your strong point."

"I'm trying, hon." Lorne tweaked one of his red horns nervously. "Really I am. But you're a bit overwhelming today. I think you're putting me off my ... stroke."

Angel took another glass from the waiter's hand and downed the drink in one.

"It's not like we don't ... do stuff." Kate groaned inwardly. She sounded like a schoolgirl, but really, she'd never discussed the intimate details of a relationship with anyone else like this before. She was woefully lacking in the right vocabulary. 

Cordy leaned forward eagerly. "What stuff?" 

"You wanna know the bottom line?" Lorne said in a low tone. 

"Yes ... please." Angel's voice came, muffled, from within the circle of his arms. "Unless it involves discussion of actual bottoms. Because that's another problem area." 

"Well," Kate gulped. "For instance, last night, he stayed over at my place. Nothing happened, we just watched Fox until we both fell asleep. But this morning ..." 

Cordy's face opened up in anticipation. 

"We ... well, we ..." Kate glanced over her shoulder and leaned towards Cordelia, lowering her voice. "We used the bathroom at the same time." 

Lorne continued in a conspiratorial whisper. "I don't see any imminent evil badness here." He cocked his head to one side. "In fact, I'm not sure what I see. But it's not evil. A little ... irresponsible. Maybe a touch ... caddish. I see you singing a lot of Tom Jones numbers very shortly. But I don't get black leather and mass murder." 

As Angel raised his head slightly and peered up at him, Lorne beamed. "You have my blessing sugar-puff. Now, in the name of all things spherical and glittery, get your sad face out of my club. You're frightening the other customers." 

Cordy's shoulders slumped. "That's it? You shared a toothbrush?" 

"We shared ..." Kate took a deep breath, "... the shower." 

"You took a shower together?" Cordy gaped. 

"Yeah," Kate went pink under Cordy's scrutiny. "You see, I was ... then he ... we ..." Kate closed her eyes and tried not to relive the sensation of Angel's soapy palms sliding over her back, his soft kisses on her face, the sight of his naked form sprinkled with droplets of water and the feel of his arousal bumping against her hip bone. She grabbed the edge of her chair with both hands as the remembrance of those few, brief moments caused her skin to flush again. 

"And don't come back 'til you hit first base!" Lorne called cheerfully after Angel. The vampire stumbled out of Caritas, knocking over a large plant on the way. 

"Andre! A Sea Breeze if you will my precious. Now the dark cloud has departed, let's liven this place up a little!" Lorne sauntered to the stage, smoothing his metallic sea-green suit. He gave the door a last glance as Angel tripped up the steps, and shook his head. 

"Shame about the leather pants, though." 

"And nothing happened?" Cordy was incredulous. "Nothing?" 

"No." Kate wriggled in her chair. Then took a large swig of coffee and burnt her mouth. 

Finally, she looked Cordy in the eye and said, "I thought we were finally on our way, you know, and then ... his bleeper went off and he split. Wrapped in one of my best towels." 

"Shoot!" Cordy threw her head back and laughed. "No wonder he's in such a state." 

TO BE CONTINUED ...


	2. Needing to breathe

A Secret Soul 2/? 

'This looks like I'm chasing him.'

Kate stood at the front door of the Hyperion and frowned at the art deco ironwork.

'I can't believe I'm thinking twice about going in. I'm thinking I'll call Cordelia on her mobile and get her to come out. This is pathetic.'

She turned away and sat on the steps for a moment, to collect herself. 

'Damnation ... why did she have to go and leave her shopping in the restaurant? Or why couldn't I have called and asked her to pick it up? Why in the name of God am I here?'

She groaned, and then thought of the embarrassment of being discovered, sitting on the steps, like some stray animal. She got up, took a deep breath and marched in. 

To her intense relief, Cordy was sitting in reception.

From his vantage point on the stairs, Angel could see Kate was not happy.

Recently, when she came to the hotel, whatever the purpose of her visit, she would always come and seek him out. She seemed as keen for his company as he was for hers. Usually they managed to at least grab five minutes in one of the offices, talking and kissing. Or if they were alone, they'd go up to his room and narrowly avoid making love. 

Now she was stood talking to Cordelia, leafing through a demon compendium, looking self-contained and indifferent, and above all, not trying to find him.

She was mad, and he didn't blame her.

When Cordelia went to answer one of the desk phones, Angel descended the stairs quickly and touched Kate's elbow. 

"I'm sorry about this morning."

She raised her head and gave him what he considered her worst cool and neutral look. Her eyes were devoid of emotion, her face blank and calm. "Which bit are you sorry for?"

Angel sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. Kate went back to her book.

"I guess ... I left a little abruptly."

"I suppose you did. Must have been an important message, huh?" Her voice was level and smooth; no hard edges indicating she was angry, so fullness or quivering to hint that she was sad. Nothing but leaden containment and steely control. A sudden urge to make her cry welled up in him and he had to mentally bat it away.

"Kate, please. This is difficult for me."

"I'm not trying to make it difficult." Kate shrugged. "I just don't know what you want from me."

Angel crept closer lowered his voice to a whisper. "You do. You know what I want." She glanced at him and he tried to hold her gaze, to convince her with his eyes that he was telling the truth. "There's just more to it, that's all. I can't ... There are issues."

She drew in a deep breath. "You think there aren't 'issues' for me too? You're a vampire, Angel."

He flinched at the word. "You're right. I mean. You're right to be worried about that."

"That's not the point. I'm just saying ... twelve months ago I didn't believe vampires existed. It's not all plain sailing for me either."

Angel hardly heard her. He was a vampire. There really was no getting away from it, if he appeared human sometimes it was essentially an act, put on for the benefit of others. He continued woodenly, "Kate ... have you changed your mind? Do you want me to back off?"

She opened her mouth to say, "Do you want to?" and then realised it was a stupid question. After this morning, how could she doubt it? She felt her cheeks flush and said nothing, turning away to hide the unexpected strength of her sudden distress.

Angel watched her closely. She wouldn't look at him, which was a bad sign, he could usually count on a piercing stare at least. She was turning pink, which must mean he'd hit the mark. He swallowed to hide his crushing disappointment. "OK. I'll ... I won't bother you. I mean, I'll stay away for a while. For good, even. If it's what you want."

She watched him walk away to one of the offices and close the door firmly behind him. Cordelia was looking sadly from the door to her and back again, which normally would have annoyed her no end, but now it didn't seem important. She seemed to be rooted to the spot.

"Kate?" It was Cordy again, with a coat on, pulling gently on her arm. "C'mon. Let's go and get really squiffy."

Kate shook her head. "I've got to see a client in half an hour. But thanks."

"Then come to my place afterwards. You know where it is? I'll get a bottle or two and we'll talk." Cordy bit her lip. "To be honest, I was going to ask you anyway. I'm worried about Angel. He's not himself these past few days."

"Can we badmouth him later? You know, after the second bottle?" Kate gave her a smile. 

Cordy grinned back. "You betcha."

Angel leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. 

He'd just told Kate he would stay away from her. What on earth was he thinking? There was no chance. 

He was obsessed with her. Every spare waking hour was filled with thoughts of her; recollections of time they'd spent together, her smell, her feel, the way she looked, and above all the effect she had on his senses when she was close, chastely clothed and curled up round him in her bed, hanging on his arm in the street, pressed into him when they kissed in his office, half-naked and flushed against the backdrop of his room upstairs. 

And now he was going to stay away from her. Some chance. Worst of all he was pretty sure it wasn't what she wanted either. Of all the stupid things to say ...

He knew the symptoms. At first he didn't appreciate what was happening, but then one evening he woke up and realised he could remember everything she'd said during the week gone by. About a collection of insignificant things - the new office furniture, the last bit of television they'd watched together, a shirt he'd bought, the price of bloody gas in the city. 

He caught himself going back over their conversations. What she said always remained the same but he was embellishing his own words to make them better, sharper, more original, to impress her.

God help him, he'd even kept hold of a piece of her clothing. She'd left behind a satin camisole - simply forgotten to put it back on. When she remembered and asked him about it, he said he didn't recall seeing it anywhere. When all along it was tucked at the back of a drawer in his room.

A tiny voice in his head told him: there was a time when this would have been nothing more than a challenge, an obstacle to be overcome. When he wouldn't have taken no for an answer. But he hadn't been Liam for over two hundred years.

A sudden heaviness overcame him, like a weight dropped onto his chest. Angel's eyes snapped open. Without realising it, he'd fallen to the carpet on the inside of the door and was sitting against the base of the doorframe. His right hand was clutched to his throat and his chest was heaving. His left hand was on the floor, fingernails driven into the carpet pile.

He tried to say "What the hell..." and found he couldn't. He could form the words but not make the sound. Something vital was missing.

He couldn't breathe.

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Dreams that happened

A Secret Soul 3/? 

I can't breathe. But I don't need to breathe. So, this must be a dream. I'll close my eyes and the world will right itself. 

Like this morning. 

When I woke up and stretched I knew she wasn't there, even before I opened my eyes. The bed was cold. I could hear splashing, and the apartment was filled with a faint mist, too thin for anyone but me to notice, and a soapy, floral smell. I guessed she was in the bathroom running hot water, washing, or perhaps taking a bath. 

I pushed the covers away and made sure I was still wearing stuff, that my clothing hadn't slipped off during the night, that we hadn't undressed each other. But, that was just nerves; in reality I knew I was dressed from ankle to neck because I hadn't wasted many of the six previous hours sleeping. I remembered her announcing she was going to bed and leaving it up to me, as usual, what I did. Whether I stayed or left. She'd disappeared for ten minutes and I'd taken the opportunity to change into the jogging pants and T-shirt I left there for just these circumstances. 

When she came back she was dressed in cotton pyjamas, white with a tiny blue check, the kind with three colours; white, dark blue and a lighter blue made up of a mixture of the light and dark threads. She looked at me quizzically and I said, "Is it OK if I stay again?"

She laughed and said I could sleep here every night if it suited me. She stretched out a hand and I took hold of her warm fingers and followed as she led me to her bedroom.

It's a peaceful room. A large bed, a duvet covered in cream fabric, built in wardrobes and a small table, with a mirror and a few tubs of cream and bottles of this and that, stacked neatly, very little clutter. There's a large television in one corner, angled to give the best view to someone lying in the bed. I smiled when I first saw it and she noticed and gave me a dig me in the ribs. She said she liked watching TV in bed late at night. It relaxed her, sometimes.

She pulled back the covers and sat down on the sheet underneath stretching her arms out behind her so that her back was at a small angle to the bed's surface, and her hair fell back from her face over the collar of her shirt. The material was drawn taut over her chest; the check was bent out of shape in places where the cloth was under more stress, giving an impression of the weight of her breasts and I could see the oval outlines of the darker, pinker nipples through the pattern. 

When a few seconds passed and I didn't move, she swung her legs over the side and scooted under the duvet, patting the space she'd vacated to indicate I should join her. I slid both hands over the sheet and sort of half jumped, half sat, poking my feet under the duvet and pulling it over me in one movement.

She ignored me for a while, allowing me to get comfortable and watch her. There was a remote control for the television under her pillow and she turned on the TV and began flicking between channels. The lighting in the room was very low, and the light from the tube threw her face into different shades and colours.

Eventually, she gave a little squeal, and declared we had to watch a certain film - one of her favourites. It was called The Piano - when I saw the opening scenes I vaguely recalled seeing billboards advertising its release in theatres a few years before - a thin, elegant woman in a dark dress with a huge, hooped crinoline. I don't watch many movies, most of them are crude, violent or dull, some are all three at once. But I settled back against the pillows to watch, wanting to see what sort of film she liked.

It was a lyrical piece, beginning slowly and revealing its subject gradually, like a woman of another age emerging from layer upon layer of clothing. Kate sat up at first, her knees drawn up under her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. After a while she straightened herself out and turned onto her side to look at me. I was enjoying watching her as much as the film, but when she started watching me back it seemed too intimate, so I looked away at the screen, where the mute woman was dressing her daughter for bed. 

I felt the bed shift and Kate's hands on my chest as she wriggled over to me and tucked herself under my arm. I hesitated a moment and then kissed the top of her head. She responded by turning her head towards me and kissing my collarbone, then my throat, then my chin, and finally her hand caressed my cheek and guided me down to her. 

She opened her mouth under mine and when I slipped my tongue inside her she tasted clean and sharply fresh, like mint. I rolled towards her and she sighed softly as our bodies clashed, our limbs instinctively moving to accommodate each other. It was hard, but I made myself pull away and whispered to her. 

"You're missing your film." 

She smiled and answered, "I've seen it before. I can afford to miss bits." 

Her breath filled my mouth and nose - I breathed her in. But then she did turn back to the television. Instead of moving away, however, she merely swivelled in my arms so I spooned her from behind. I wondered at first if she intended me to give her more space, but she put her hands over mine and snuggled back against me. The firm flesh of her rear massaged my groin and I closed my eyes and fervently imagined being somewhere else, trying to control my body's response. 

I watched the film more to distract myself from the sensation of being wrapped around Kate than any interest in the story. During certain scenes - where the woman is forced to make bargains to regain the instrument - I felt her heart beat a little faster, but then she seemed to become calm and after a while I realised she was asleep. I relaxed a little, and allowed myself to be more aware of her body touching mine. As the lovers on the screen in the corner of the room moved against each other, I tried to be as still as I could, and she slept on. She is a gentle, quiet sleeper, just occasionally stretching within the circle of my arms.

I threw the covers back a few times when it seemed to me that she was getting too hot. The film came to an end and I reached for the remote and turned the television off. Then I watched her, the flutter of her eyelids as she dreamed, the steady rise and fall of her chest and, infrequently, a murmured word or two from her lips, which I strained to catch but never understood. An hour before dawn I allowed myself to fall asleep too. The next thing I knew it was morning and she was gone.

I secured the cord around my waist a little tighter and went after her. The density of the steam increased as I approached the door, and from the pattern of the pattering noises made by the fall of water, I knew she must be in the shower. 

I expected to find the door locked, but it stood open, and I stepped into the bathroom. The glass door of her shower was misted but I could see her inside. She had just begun to wet her hair under the jet of water, it was half dry, and hanging in tendrils around her face and neck. I pressed my palm against the glass. 

At that point I didn't think about what I was doing, I just ... wanted to be close to her again. Her eyes were closed under the water, so I said, softly, "Kate" and she turned to face me. 

I don't know what I was expecting; perhaps that she would cover herself with her hands, or be startled. 

Instead she swept the water from her eyes and turned to see me. Then she waved me back a step and pushed the door open. 

"Angel?"

I took a step towards her and she put a hand on my chest. I stopped and her hand travelled down my abdomen and her index finger hooked in my waistband. She whispered "You'll get them wet." I threw the T-shirt over my head and pushed the pants off my hips and kicked them away. She stepped back to let me inside.

Then we were both under the water, kissing desperately and laying hands on each other. I didn't care what was going to happen. I was suddenly intent on my desire for her, nothing else was real. As we broke apart, she said my name again.

It wasn't her normal voice. 

Kate's voice is incredible. Whatever she's saying, whatever is happening around her, it's the same. It's not a monotone, it has depths and tones and a husky quality. You can tell when she's upset and when she's joking, but the changes and inflections are subtle. It's the same beautiful sound, whether she's ordering a pizza or accusing someone of murder.

When she said my name, it was different, as if for the first time she was asking something of me and it did not come naturally. The only time I heard her talk like it was when she was speaking about her father. I caressed the muscles of her back, fighting the streaming water for closer access to her skin, and she half-closed her eyes. I touched kisses to her face; I wanted to fill her mouth with my flesh again, but then I also wanted her to speak again in that strange, needful way. I desperately wanted to bring that voice out of her.

The water trickled over her throat and down between her breasts, falling in a single rivulet down her stomach. If I looked down I could see my own flesh hardening and the water trickling off her and onto me. Her head was thrown backwards under the spray. She was breathing at her normal rate, but in a too much measured way, as if it no longer happened naturally and she was having to keep it under control. I felt the point of no return slip past, without either of us raising any objection.

That was when I felt a sickening, stirring feeling in my chest, like a small animal was crawling about in there, trying to find its way out. I think I must have gasped - I don't know. The next thing I remember is an insistent electronic noise inside my head. Then it wasn't inside, but coming from the sitting room where I had left my clothes. The bleeper. I ran towards the warning sound, picked up a handful of clothes and kept on running. 

A dream. Except, I know it happened. 

"Angel, are you all right?" 

Wesley bent over Angel's body, shaking him by the shoulder until his eyelids flickered open. 

"Wes? What happened?" 

"You tell me. I came to get a file and found you on the floor. It looks like you passed out." 

Angel sat up and clutched his head. "I'm cold. Everything is aching." 

"Ye-es," Wesley mused. "Not a good place to kip, really. Not when you've got over a hundred bedrooms. Nineteen of them usable." He helped Angel to a seat and pulled another up close. 

Angel shivered. "I was dreaming, I think." 

Wesley nodded. " I see." And then, "No, that's a bit of a fib. I don't see at all. Are you sure you're all right?" 

Angel shook his head. "Something's wrong with me. Maybe I've been poisoned or something. I've been having strange ... symptoms for about twenty-four hours." 

"What kind of symptoms?" 

"Just before I passed out, I was struggling for breath. And then in the shower this morning, I had this palpitation." 

"Lack of breath and palpitations? You sound like an elderly maiden aunt. You don't need to breathe and there's nothing palpitating in there." 

Angel gulped. "And at Caritas." 

"What?" 

"This morning. I was drinking like a fish and ... I actually got drunk." 

TO BE CONTINUED ...


	4. A girl, a woman, a vampire (I)

A Secret Soul 4a/? 

Wesley came off the phone and strode back to where Angel was slumped.

"How is it now?"

Angel nodded and gave a small smile and a thumbs up. Then his face changed and he grabbed a handful of Wesley's shirt, writhing in the chair. Finally he wilted visibly and let out a loud burp. After the shock had subsided from his features, he rasped, "Since you bring it up, it's horrible."

"I don't know what this can be, Angel." Wesley shook his head. "Beyond the things that kill you, I know very little about vampire physiology, and all your dormant human systems seem to be acting very strangely too. I'm out of my depth. I think we need to get you to some specialised help as soon as we can."

His patient wheezed and nodded, tried to speak and then curled up into a bout of coughing.

"And since there isn't any specialised help, I've called in a few favours and we're off to see a friend of Giles'."

Angel shook visibly as a violent red blush bounded across his face and then faded. 

"What about Cordy? She left with Kate earlier. Should we call her?"

Wesley threw Angel's duster around his shoulders and helped him out of the door. "I've left a message for Cordy at home and one here for Gunn. We can call again on the way. Come on."

With Angel's arm around his shoulder, Wesley staggered slowly to the Hyperion's underground garage, and lowered him into the passenger seat of his own car. Angel relaxed back against the Plymouth's leather seats, and was snoring loudly by the time the engine turned over. 

As Wesley's message arrived on her answerphone, Cordelia was soaking in a large bubble bath. 

Arriving home, she'd cleaned up the mess from breakfast, and given Dennis strict instructions to play host if Kate arrived early.

"You'll recognise her because she's beautiful and blonde. You know - Angel's type. Make sure you ask her in and tell her who you are! Don't just lurk there and scare the crap out of her like you do with the rest my friends."

Cordy paused and added, "She's important to him. That means she's important to us, right?"

A pen wafted through the air and wrote a message on a white board above the sink. 

"HOW WILL SHE KNOW WHAT I AM?"

"Oh, Dennis, I don't know! I'll write a message for her on some notepaper and you can show her. OK?"

Cordy stretched in the bath, her muscles relaxing, and groaned slightly when she heard the bell go. Resisting the temptation to carry on wallowing, she pulled the plug and stepped out, soaking the worst of the moisture from her skin with a towel and wrapping herself up in a large fluffy robe.

In the lobby, Dennis peered though the peephole and saw an elegant blond lady in the porch. He concentrated hard until the latch flipped and the door swung open. Then he waved Cordy's note under her nose.

The lady read the note aloud. 

" 'Come right on in and make yourself comfortable. This is Dennis. He's a ghost. We share.' " 

She smiled graciously, "Why, thank-you, Dennis." and stepped across the threshold. "I've always liked ghosts. You can call me Darla."

An hour's drive out of Los Angeles, Wesley pulled the car to the side of the road. They were midway between Victorville and Barstow, where the road tucked under a barren hillside. Dusk was long gone, but the desert around them seemed to glow, and ahead they could still see a scattered copse of low trees, silhouetted against the dim sky. 

"Angel?" Wesley shook his companion's shoulder gently.

Angel's eyes slid open wearily, and he slowly uncurled himself and looked around. 

"Giles has friends here?"

Wesley smiled. "Giles has friends everywhere. He's a friendly bloke."

"Where are they? 

Both men started and scrambled round in their seats as a voice drifted over the boot of the car.

"Wherever he needs us to be."

The detective in Kate's brain kicked in as soon as she arrived at Cordelia's apartment. 

The front door was slightly ajar, which could either mean Cordy had left it open for her or that something was terribly wrong. Kate knew instinctively that it was the latter. She pushed the door further until she could be sure there was no-one hiding behind it, and peered carefully into the building.

The place was a wreck. Furniture was thrown about as if the living room had seen a struggle involving a whole football team. There was no sign of Cordy there, no sign of any living thing, and Kate passed quickly on, looking for clues. In the kitchen, there was a message on the white board. Kate touched it with her forefinger and read aloud.

"How will she know what I am?" 

Everything else there was quiet and undisturbed.

Kate sighed and thought that it was probably a good question. But kind of cryptic. Not helpful.

The bathroom was slightly steamy and there were suds in the tub. A damp bathrobe was lying on the floor, but there was no sign of Cordelia.

That left the bedroom, and the door was firmly shut. Kate looked around the living room for a weapon and picked up a chair leg that had broken off in the struggle. She squeezed the doorknob with her free hand and counted backwards from five.

The voice came from a girl, seemingly aged about seven. She was dressed in a simple cotton shift dress, and was barefooted.

Angel blinked, first at the girl and then at Wesley. Neither spoke, so he began. "Who ... what are you?"

The girl smiled pleasantly. 

"You might want to stick to questions where you have a remote chance of understanding the answer." 

She walked around the car, trailing a finger in the red-brown dust that coated its surface, and stopped next to Angel. 

"You're here to ask about yourself."

Wesley brightened. "You're telepathic?"

The girl shook her head and then confusingly said, "Yes." Then she wrote "WASH ME" in capital letters on Angel's door. "But I don't need to be telepathic to know that. Humans are always here to ask about themselves."

"If you're telepathic," Wesley countered, "do we need to bother with a question? Can you tell us what we came to find out?"

The girl laughed. 

"No. Questions! Questions!" 

She clapped her hands and clambered over the side of the car. For a moment she was upended and fell to the floor and Wesley and Angel craned their necks to see if she was hurt. Then she wriggled into the back seat and folded her hands in her lap. 

"Questions are fun."

Kate dialled the number of her old station, and let the phone ring twice before hitting the "No" button. She redialled slowly, and listened to the Angel Investigations answerphone message twice. When no-one answered, she picked up her bag from the hallway, and emptied the contents in a wide arc on the living room floor. Kneeling amongst the chaos, she seized on a small scrap of lined paper, and dialled again.

"Charles? Gunn? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, who wants to know?"

"Kate. You have to come to Cordy's, right now."

"What's up?"

"Just come, OK?"

The line went dead.


	5. A girl, a woman, a vampire (II)

A Secret Soul 4b/? 

Kate slipped the phone back in her pocket and returned to the bathroom, picking up the abandoned robe. She took it to Cordy's bedroom, stealing herself for the sight she would see and the task ahead.

Cordy lay on the bed, entirely naked and lifeless. As Kate approached the body again, she mentally noted the bruises on her upper arms and face. Whatever had been done to her, it was violent. On her left arm there was a bloody handprint and Kate compared it against her own for size, and then picked up both Cordy's hands. They seemed completely clean, whereas the person, probably the woman, who made the print would have hands coated in blood.

The rest of the body was undamaged. There was no sign of a sexual motive, other than the body being naked. Kate turned Cordy's head from where it rested, lifting her right cheek from the pillow, knowing what she would see.

The right side of Cordy's neck was coated in congealed blood. A large, ferocious bite wound lay an inch and a half above her collarbone. Kate clasped her own throat, where a scar with the same shape still ached. 

Wesley began, "My friend Angel here is a vampire. He has been suffering some strange symptoms recently, and we're concerned he may be ... poisoned."

The girl shook her head emphatically.

"Not poisoned." 

"Then what's wrong with me?"

The girl sighed and looked at him as if he were a broken doll.

"Where to begin? Everything. Nothing. Compared to what?"

"I've imagined I am short of breath. Had a strange crawling in my chest. I don't usually feel these things. Why am I feeling them now?"

"Because you have taken steps."

Angel frowned at Wesley, who shook his head. "Steps?

"Started to live. They have always been there, within reach. You only had to move your hand to take them."

"Them?"

"These symptoms. Symptoms of your disease."

Angel shifted uncomfortably, and then said. "What is my disease?"

The girl turned to Wesley. 

"You tell him."

Kate delicately draped Cordy's body with the robe, adjusting the angle so she was covered, neck to toe. With nothing else to do until Gunn arrived, she concentrated on pushing away any thought that she might cry, until steps sounded in the living room. Giving Cordy a last glance, she crept to the door and opened it an inch.

It was Gunn. Relieved, Kate went to meet him, closing the door to Cordy's bedroom softly behind her.

"What the hell happened?"

"Charles, it's Cordy. I'm sorry. She's been attacked."

Gunn looked around the room wildly. "Where is she? Is she OK? Did you call a doctor?"

"It's too late for that."

Gunn shook his head. "No."

Kate waited for a second and then took his hand and brought him with her to the room where Cordelia lay. 

(I'm so sorry.)

(There was nothing I could do.)

(I know how you felt about her.) 

Words loitered on the tip of Kate's tongue. Knowing how useless they would be, she bit her lip and quietly left him alone.

Wesley turned pink.

"Me?"

The girl nodded cheerfully. "You know more about vampires than anyone I've ever met."

"I do?"

"You know the most important things. Essence. Matter. Soul. Body. The indivisible divided." She put her palms together as if to pray, and then turned them through a quarter of a circle so one hand was hidden behind the other. "By a clever slight of hand."

"I'm lost." Angel climbed out of the car and walked a few paces away, kicking at the dust.

"You're just off the I15!" called the girl, helpfully.

Wesley's brow was puckered in thought. "Angel's disease is vampirism."

"Noooo!" A giggle. "That's just another symptom."

"That's nonsense. How can something as essential as being a vampire be described as a symptom? It's what he is."

"Is not." The girl's voice became petulant. "You could become a vampire very easily. Would you cease to be human then? Or is your humanity essential?"

"I don't get it."

Kate sat down close to Gunn on Cordelia's sofa, amid the wreckage.

"What don't you get? They got her. Seems pretty open and shut to me." Gunn stood and did a circuit of the room, for the tenth time since arriving. "All we can do now is wait."

"How did they get in?"

Gunn frowned. "You mean, the vampires?"

Kate nodded. "I'd say, one vampire. A woman. But Cordy wouldn't have invited a strange person in here, male or female. She knows too much."

"I think I agree with ya." Gunn stopped pacing and picked Cordy's answer phone from the wreckage. "Someone she knows, then? Or she thought she knew." He pressed the play button.

After a crackle of interference and static, followed by a loud beep, Wesley's voice filled the room. 

"Cordelia? Are you there? Pick up if you can, it's Wesley." There was a pause. "Angel's not himself so we're going out of town for a while. We may be gone for a few hours. We've got the mobile, I'll switch it on every now and again and you can leave us a message if anything crops up. All right? See you anon. Bye."

"The soul," Wesley started to reply, but was cut off.

"You have the knowledge but you fight it. That's stupid."

Wesley slumped back into his seat. "Then, I may have the knowledge, but I don't know it."

The girl whispered. "Just stretch out your fingers."

"My humanity is essential." Wesley frowned. "At the moment. And will continue to be until I die."

"And if you become a vampire?"

"It's gone."

"And if you shanshu?"

"It's back again."

The girl sniffed. "It comes and goes a lot, your essence."

Gunn dropped the machine to the floor. 

"Charles?"

Kate looked at him warily, and he gave her an indefinable stare.

"No. You can't possibly think ..."

"Oh?" Gunn grimaced. "If it's so unthinkable why is it the first thing you thought too?"

Kate shook her head. "I didn't. I didn't think that. I could just tell what you were thinking, and ..."

He laughed, bitterly, and turned his back on her. 

"Yeah, right. You keep tellin' yourself that, lady, if it makes it any easier."

"Angel couldn't have done this. He wouldn't."

Gunn replied quietly, "You haven't seen him. When he's different. When he's not himself. Or when he really is himself. You don't know."

"Have you?" Kate demanded angrily.

Gunn shrugged. "Not completely. But I was with him when he was getting all confused over that shroud ..."

"You mean when he saved my life?"

Gunn ignored her. "And Cordelia knew. She's seen it. Looks to me like she's seen it once too often ..."

"Explain it to me." Wesley pleaded. "I don't understand."

The girl reached forward and placed a hand on Wesley's forehead. "You are, in essence, singular. Uncomplicated. Undivided. A simple species, untroubled. A human being." She smiled and placed her other hand on her own chest. "As am I."

Kneeling on the back seat, she looked out to where Angel was watching them, a few feet away. "What is he?"

Wesley gave Angel a worried look. "He's ..." he gestured with his hands, "... a vampire."

The girl groaned. "Pay attention! Vampirism is a symptom. He is, in essence, plural. Divided. In conflict. A demon and a ...?" 

"Dead body?"

She tutted. "Did you read Christophe and learn nothing? He is a demon and a human being. A war zone. Vampirism is just a symptom of his duality."

"So the other symptoms, the breathlessness and so on, they are ... ?"

"Signs that the demon has lost a battle to the human."

"But not the war?" Angel came forward and gripped the side of the car.

The girl looked at him sadly and inclined her head. Climbing out of the car, she asked, "Why do you want the war to be over? Do you wish to throw half of yourself away?"

"OK," Kate took out her phone and handed it to him. "Phone Wesley. Let's prove it one way or the other."

Gunn looked at the phone and then at Kate.

"We're going to have to tell him ..." Kate bit her lip, "... them ... anyway. Make the call. Or I will."

Angel allowed the girl to find her feet again, and then implored her. 

"I want to be human."

"I've explained. You already are."

"Exclusively human, not a vampire."

"You've already taken the first steps. Listen to what I've told you." The girl faded into the darkness, saying over her shoulder, "And learn to walk."


	6. Desert blues

A Secret Soul 5/? 

The gas station seems deserted.

A sign reads "open" and there's a light in the office. As Wesley cautiously steers the car round the pumps, I notice they are switched on. We shrug at each other, and Wesley says something like, "I'll start filling her up - that'll get them out here quick enough."

I'm restless. 

I've tried tapping Wes for more information about the girl, but the only thing he can tell me is that Giles has absolute confidence in her. Wes has absolute confidence in Giles and I have absolute confidence in them both. Therefore, I should be able to trust what she says. 

And what she seems to say is, I'm becoming human.

Somehow, this is not what I expected. Not that I haven't been expectant. Ever since I knew about shanshu, I've been waiting, looking out for some life-giving event. Saving a soul, killing a demon, preventing the end of the world. 

Making love. It made all the difference last time.

But, if the girl is right, it's not an event. It's not something I earn through heroism or sacrifice. It's not even something I do by mistake. It's something that is happening to me, slowly, stealthily, whether I try for it or not. 

She also implied I could get there quicker. She left out exactly how.

I hear voices coming from behind the office. Wesley is dribbling gas into the tank like it's liquid gold, something to do with being British I think, and so we're clearly going to be here a while. A general urge to take a wander turns into necessity when I feel an urgent, heavy sensation in my groin, like someone has placed a warm hand on it and is slowly applying pressure. 

It feels like I haven't taken a piss for two-hundred and fifty years.

I make my way across the forecourt and around the perimeter of the building. There's no-one there, but a barn stands about fifty feet away, and through gaps in the timber walls I see a light, flicking on and off, on and off, like someone is trying to communicate with us in Morse code.

As I approach, I see the effect is caused by bodies passing in front of a light source, probably a lamp rather than a torch as the light is strong enough to illuminate the whole barn. The place is humming. Scents come drifting to me: sweat, saliva, blood and their attendant emotions, anticipation, greed, hunger. Emotions so strong, they're almost visible to me. 

Nasty, gut-felt, human feelings, polluting the cool desert air.

I start circumnavigating the building, looking for an entrance. Before I find one, the mood changes. The voices of the occupants, until now just a murmur, break into a barely controlled heave of barks and grunts, filled with urgent but still lowly voiced orders. Something important is happening. Something exciting. Something that's brought together a crowd of men and made them bare their souls. They're parading their lust in public, and suddenly I know what the Host sees when people open their mouths to sing.

I round a corner. One of them is keeping watch at the barn's only set of doors; however the events within have now grabbed his attention too. His arm pokes out of the doorway and I can make out his fingers, splayed over the greyish wood, but his head is on the inside, and his mind is likewise taken up with whatever is happening in there. It's easy to peel away from the barn wall, creep out ten foot or so into the inky desert blackness, then approach the doorway, cloaked, and look over his shoulder, to see what he sees.

As I level with the doorway, an unearthly shout breaks out. There is an explosion of noise, and a sudden release of tension and it feels like I've been slapped across the face, punched in the chest, injected with adrenaline, plunged into cold water or all of these at once. I stumble. My heart is thumping against my chest. It's frightening, painful, seemingly unstoppable. Whatever it is, has started. 

The watchman has given up entirely now and I see him plunge into the crowd, waving a fistful of money. He pushes his way through the throng and stops at the side of a raised ring in the centre of the barn.

I follow him in. I don't give a thought to whether I should be there, if anyone will notice the stranger in their midst; I know instinctively that at this moment, they are too single-minded to care. Their strange ecstasy radiates and courses through me and I need to know, I have to see, what brings it out of them, what can be happening to make their hearts pound and their skin sweat like this. I have to know because my heart and my skin are as alive as theirs. More than that, I remember - this scene - I remember it from long ago and far away, in another life.

By the time I reach the ring it is all over. Men are reaching over each other and handing money back and forth. Some are grinning ear-to-ear; others cross their arms and look as black as thunder. One of the observers bends double to reach into the ring, and picks up a small bundle.

It's a bird. A large gamecock, with a coppery body and purple-black tail feathers. It has three inch blades attached to its legs like spurs. The man rips the spurs away and slings the mutilated and lifeless corpse towards a dark corner, where a small pile of similar shapes is growing. The barn is quiet again, and from a dozen small boxes heaped against the far wall, I can hear flapping, clucking, scraping sounds. 

I back out, staggering into a warm body standing behind me. It's Wes.

"Cockfighting!"

I seize his arm and mutter, "Let's go."

"It's illegal in California, you know!"

"Yeah, I think they probably know that, Wes."

I hurry Wesley to the car, not looking back. But they're not taking any notice of us. I drive us away, hoping that the familiarity of making the car work will ease the pounding in my chest.

In my mind's eye, I see a bird taken from its cage, and placed beak to beak with the victor in the ring. A sea of faces watches eagerly, hoping for a short and brutal fight. Wagers are made, hands gripping coins or the side of the ring shake in anticipation. 

"Are you OK?"

Wesley's face looms at my side, white in the glare from the instruments on the dashboard.

"I'm fine. I - I - "

"Bad memories?"

Sometimes Wes astounds me with his insight.

"It was commonplace back when I was human. I used to - when I was a young man - it was just - entertainment."

Wesley grimaced, "It still is."

Shanshu. Like a disease, it's happening to me. Whether I want it or not. 


	7. Cordelia wakes

A Secret Soul 6/? 

By the time the knock comes, Gunn and I have righted most of Cordelia's apartment. The work prevents most conversation, which suits us both. We reserve a small corner of the bedroom for furniture that can't be saved. I gingerly place the last broken ornament on the pile and take a moment to test the chains that bind its owner to the bed.

I hear Gunn's disembodied voice shout, "I'll get it!" 

He's racing for the door. He wants to get there before me. I don't try to stop him. He's been cherishing his anger for over an hour now. There's going to be a confrontation, and I've decided I don't want to be part of it. When I think of Gunn's suspicions my instinct is to defend Angel, but after this morning I can't help but wonder if I know him as well as I like to think. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I try to block out the voices, but it's impossible, and I can distinguish his tones amongst them. A siren call that I can't ignore. Before, I never questioned why that sound lures me, and now I'm afraid of the answer. His voice rises and falls, and orchestrates a tension in my chest. If he weren't a vampire, would it feel like this?

I look at Cordelia properly for the first time since Gunn arrived, and the truth is I can't reconcile the sight of her blood-soaked and bruised body with the things I think I know about him. 

I know his reticence. How he appears to hold back but pushes onwards almost imperceptibly, slowly awaking a need which he then fulfils. Like ivy growing over bricks, cloaking, invading, covering until it's the only thing holding the edifice together. I know his gentleness, remember being held down with the strength of a spider's thread, touched so softly that I hardly knew where his hands fell. I know his patience, his willingness to watch and wait, to approach the abyss and draw back. I know how it feels to be loved by him.

I can't make it add up. The things I know and the things I fear confront each other head on, and won't be stilled. 

Whether or not I love him.

He couldn't have done this.

We aren't even together now. 

It's easier to stay away.

Dead for more than two hours, Cordy's skin still holds a faint rose blush. Her lips are stained the colour of cranberry juice. These things don't mean anything of course; it could just be that she's wearing make-up which disguises death's pallor. Cordelia's make-up was always so perfect, and even now, I'm not sure.

I lean in close, studying the surface of her skin, trying to find telltale powdery lines in the natural creases around her mouth and eyes. But there's nothing to see. I am about to lift the hair from her forehead to look for evidence that she's wearing foundation when her eyes snap open.

Seeing a corpse move is not like anything else I've ever experienced. Even though we half expected it and despite her being safely chained, there is still a shock of dismay and a cold, hard bubble of fear in my chest.

I scramble to the foot of the bed. Cordelia tries to sit up. When she finds she's chained, her eyes lock onto me and a low ominous rattling comes from her throat. I hear an alien sound, and realise it's me, speaking. 

"Shit!"

"Unchain me!" 

Cordelia's voice. But not Cordelia. To my shock, I find I'm already thinking of what is in front of me as a thing. An evil thing. Angel is not ...

"I can't. You're sick."

She stretches sinuously against the covers of the bed, as far as she can given the restrictions placed on her movements. Never taking an eye off me, she tests the chains without appearing to do so, one by one. Finding them strong, she relaxes, and gives me a conspiratorial smile.

"He's here."

I try not to react, and fail.

"Who?"

"You know who I mean. Your ex."

"Angel?"

Suggestively, "Poor Katie. After you waited so long, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're only blooded. He's my family now. You don't stand a chance."

"Are you saying Angel did this?"

A snicker. She writhes in obvious delight.

"You know how frustrated he is, Katie. You shouldn't have pushed him."

She grins, and runs her tongue along the line of her upper teeth. Her gaze slides down and focuses quite deliberately on my neck.

"After all. You know what happens when he gets cranky."

Suddenly, I can't bear to see or hear any more of this, and I turn to leave the room. I can hear recriminations being tossed back and forth at the front door.

Should I stay in here, do verbal battle with the demon? Or join in the fight out there?

My head is buzzing with the confusion, and I don't have any answers. Cordy isn't going anywhere. Without looking back, I take my coat from where it lies on the bedroom floor and sneak out through the kitchen, hoping there's a way to get to the street. 

Sure enough, there is. A wide path with a gutter down the centre runs along the back of the block, meandering through garbage cans and fire escapes. I step out into the night and shut the back door quietly behind me. A security light is triggered, and that's how I see her, haloed, before I feel the pain in my skull and blackness descends. 


	8. Missing Kate

A Secret Soul 7/12? 

Gunn looked around Cordelia's room, as if he expected Kate to walk out of a closet. 

"She was here a moment ago."

In contrast, his companions were transfixed, staring in the direction of the bed. Wesley was the first to speak.

"Well, she's ... I mean she's clearly ..."

"A vampire," Gunn tried to speak matter-of-factly.

"Yes," Wesley gulped, "It's a good thing you thought of the chains soon enough." 

"It's a good thing we were here."

Wesley sighed.

"We've been through all this, Gunn. I really don't see any point in blaming each other. It's ... happened. We have to deal with it. At least she's not ..."

"What?" Gunn retorted, "At least she's not dead? Hell no, it's a lot worse than that!"

Cordelia rattled her chains, and looked from one to the other, before her gaze rested on Angel.

"Hello, Angelus."

"Wake up, sleepy-head."

Kate became aware of the ground first. It was hard, man-made, shiny, unyielding. Her shoulder blades were testing it, and coming off a poor second. 

A disembodied voice echoed in her ears - so unreal, she almost dismissed it as part of a dream.

"You have to wake up. We must have our little chat. No sense in putting it off any longer."

Kate tried to ease her shoulders forward, to stretch the muscles and test for real damage, but then it became apparent that her hands were tied at her back. Neither could she separate her ankles, and her feet were numb.

"You know, anyone would think you weren't happy to be here."

She knew the voice, but couldn't place it for a moment. Feminine, insinuating, pregnant with menace. Dieter Kramer. Darla. 

Kate opened her eyes. She was in a white-tiled room, something like a public toilet, but bare. Darla stood a few feet away dressed in red, a streak of violent carmine against the bleached, clinical surface.

"An old surgical facility. Nice isn't it? Quiet, abandoned, no-one to hear us. Easily sluiced."

Kate wriggled inside her bonds and gasped as all the bruises and scratches she'd sustained since being captured made themselves known. Darla continued to soliloquise.

"And it still has that faint hint of blood and fear. Or maybe that's you I can smell? What do you think?"

"Chiefly," thought Kate, "I'm thinking: why aren't I dead already?"

Angel closed the door on Cordelia rages. He spoke quietly, without emotion.

"What are we going to do?"

The question focused everyone's attention, and the three looked at each other, each hoping someone else would suggest the solution. Angel spoke again. 

"We need to decide." 

Gunn laughed bitterly. 

"I think you need to stay out of it."

Wesley shook his head wearily. 

"Gunn, I've already told you Angel was with me. I don't know what else to say to you. This attitude isn't helping Cordy."

"I mean it." Angel ignored them and carried on. "I don't want her like this for any longer than necessary."

Gunn stood and tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He drew out a stake. 

"That's soon fixed. So is one of you gonna stake her? Or shall I?"

"No-one is getting staked!" Wesley shouted.

Darla was clearly enjoying Kate's physical discomfort, so Kate made a huge effort and managed to sit up. She couldn't balance herself on her arms but managed to curl her legs to one side and gain some stability. True, if Darla gave her a good push she'd be flat on her back again, but at least she'd have proven something. She could still sit up. 

And speak, she could certainly still speak.

"What do you want?"

"This isn't about me, honey."

"So, tell me what it is about."

"I've come to give you some friendly woman-to-woman advice."

"Like you did with Cordy? Thanks, but ..."

"Not her!" Darla spat, "I'm not interested in her."

"Then why did you turn her?"

"Why not?"

Angel slipped into Cordelia's room, and shortly afterwards the screaming died away. 

"No-one is getting staked." Wesley continued in a low voice. "There's got to be another way."

Gunn threw his stake from one hand to the other. 

"You're just putting off the inevitable."

Angel reappeared and whispered fiercely, "Nothing's inevitable."

"I've got it." Wesley's face brightened. "We restore her soul. Make her like Angel."

Gunn spluttered, "And this would be a good thing, why?"

"I have to agree, Wes." Angel shook his head. "I don't want to put Cordelia through what I had to go through."

"But don't you see," Wesley babbled, "It won't be the same. Not at all. You had no-one. She'll have us. She'll have friends."

Gunn bit his lip and turned away as Wesley continued eagerly.

"For heaven's sake, she'll have the only other souled vampire in the world to help her through it. She's not going to be alone for a century like you were."

Angel shrugged.

"I don't know, Wes ..."

"Don't you think having people to turn to would have helped?"

"Maybe." Angel shrugged, and then saw the disappointed expression on Wesley's face. "Yes. Of course it would. You know how much. But ... she's so young, Wes. What if she can't handle it? Even with us?"

Kate frowned. Darla's reply had slipped out quite naturally, as if it were the matter-of-fact truth. Perhaps vampires were better liars than people, but Kate couldn't think why she would lie about this. And yet, it didn't add up.

"You turn people pretty much at random, then?"

"Well, there was the additional bonus of it being a nice surprise for him."

Kate groaned inwardly. She was getting a definite feeling of deja vu.

"Who?"

"You know who I mean."

"Lemme take a wild guess ... Angel."

"The one and only."

"And that's why we're here."

Darla peeled herself off the tiles like a cat and slunk over to where Kate was sitting. 

"You think you're going to be with him." 

Kate sighed and relaxed the muscles of her neck, letting her head slump forward. Keeping up an impression of equality despite being bound hand and foot was hard work, and became impossible when your captor chose to stand less than a foot away. No matter how many years you've been on the force and how much crim psych training you have under your metaphorical belt. She answered honestly.

"No. Not just lately."

"Don't lie. I've watched you."

"Then you'll know how little there has been to see. Now, could we just get to the part where you kill me? I've had just about as much Angel as I can take for one day."

She felt Darla's cold fingers grasp her chin, and gasped as her head was wrenched backwards. 

"No, Kate. Now we have the place to ourselves, you and I are going to get to know one another."

She released her hold and lowered her voice to a whisper.

"It's going to take me a good long while to kill you. And you won't be coming back."

Wesley polished his glasses and looked at Angel. 

"Well?"

"I suppose it's worth a try. Can you do the ritual?"

"As far as I know, it's not difficult. We can wire Giles for the incantation and other details."

Wesley shook Gunn's shoulder gently. 

"Are you going to help us?"

"You'd never really be able to trust him, have you thought of that?"

Darla was in full flow. Kate listened passively, watching as the vampire paced to and fro, while surreptitiously testing the twine that held her wrists together. 

"You may think he's all soulful, but sooner or later, that demon's coming out to play. I nearly had him before. You're confusing the issue. I want you out of the picture."

The knots were tight, but they were workable. Kate waited until Darla turned her back and shuffled into a kneeling position. She snagged the bonds on the heel of her boot and leaned slightly forward as if in pain, placing pressure on the knots. Luckily, Darla was much too busy ranting to notice.

"You'd never truly understand what makes him tick. He looks human. He likes to pretend he's human. He does a passable impression of being human. But sweetie, he isn't human, and we both know it."

As the pinching around her wrists began to give slightly, Kate tried to formulate a plan. The room was utterly devoid of weapons, almost completely empty, in fact.

Apart from an old fashioned mop and bucket, abandoned in the corner. She stared at the wooden handle, as if it was a miracle.

"Kate!"

Her attention switched back to Darla. The vampire's eyes were psychotic and blazing.

"Listen to me, when I'm talking."

Kate made sure she cowered in the right direction, as Darla approached. When the blow came, she was propelled several feet in the direction of the mop. 

After the others were gone, Gunn switched off the lights in Cordelia's apartment room by room. He took time to make sure all the doors and windows were locked. However unlikely Cordelia's return was, he wanted to be sure her home was still here for her if it ever happened. 

From the front window, he could see them in the car. Angel had knocked Cordelia out with a single, efficient blow and secured her to the back seat. He'd taken the seat next to her, just in case. Wesley was revving the engine. It was time to go. 

In the hallway a coppery glint from the carpet by the door caught his eye. Expecting a fragment of glass from an ornament, he stooped to pick it up, and found a plain ring, too dark to be gold, and too big to be Cordelia's. Attached to it was a long gold chain, as if someone had been wearing it around their neck.

"Guys!"

He raced out of the building towards Wesley and Angel, waving the ring in front of him.

"Recognise this?"

Angel nodded. "It's the Band of Blacknil. Where did you get it?"

Gunn gasped for breath. "Carpet. Inside. With a broken chain. Torn off in the fight ... see?"

Angel looked at the ring in horror. "It's her! Darla. She had it ... I gave it to her ... when I ... when we ..."

"When you shagged? How very traditional." Wesley said, dryly. "One might almost say chivalrous. She must have been here, tricked her way in somehow. This wasn't a random killing, she must have been after Cordelia ... or ... or ..."

For the first time that day, the three friends spoke in unison.

"Kate!" 


	9. Fighting humanity

A Secret Soul 8/12 

Angel dragged himself up the short flight of steps to the Hyperion's swing doors. The air was humming with the approaching dawn, but he calculated he maybe could have searched for another thirty minutes before being in real danger of catching the sun.

The problem was, he'd run out of places to look over an hour ago.

All was normal in the lobby, apart from the collection of herbs and bones lay arranged in a wide circle on the floor, and the prominent placing of an orb of thessala, so he slumped into an armchair, unable to raise enough energy to propel himself any further. He could feel the coldness of the room; it was too early for the antique heating system to be on. A dull ache penetrated his shoulders, and the soles of his feet were tender and swollen. Intermittently his lungs contracted and sucked in air without warning, usually accompanied by a rattling motion in his chest. 

"I don't think I can take much more of this."

He spoke out loud, creating a warm puff of air that left his mouth like smoke. 

Wesley's head appeared from the office.

"Any luck?"

Angel shook his head mutely, recalling the stark failure of his night's work. He'd been everywhere. Every one of Kate's favourite spots. Every place Darla had ever been seen in LA. Every demon haunt he knew about. 

He'd even sang a couple of verses of "Yellow Submarine" at Caritas. Singing was even more difficult now he had to remember to breathe, and besides, a distracting tide of uncomfortable warmth rose further up his neck with every line. The Host seemed to realise his predicament and waved him off the stage.

"Let it be, kiddo," he smiled sympathetically as Angel gulped at a Bloody Mary. "She's a woman who can get by without help from her friends, if you catch my drift. You have more pressing matters to worry about. And please, never sing Ringo Starr in my club again. They may not be written down, but I do have rules."

The Host had never been wrong before. Angel couldn't force him to talk. Nevertheless, he tried once more, and got an exasperated scarlet glare for his trouble.

"She can come back to you if she wants to. I'm saying no more and even that's probably too much. I have client confidentiality to think of, you know."

Angel stared at the ritual unfolding in front of him, and for the fiftieth time that night, wished he could stop the sick feeling in his stomach. He closed his eyes and asked Wesley how Cordelia was coping.

"OK, I think. Gunn has been looking after her. I'm just waiting for Giles to fax me the words and then we can start. Actually ..."

Angel looked up. "What?"

"I've been doing a little research into your problem. You know, to pass the time. I think I may have found something interesting."

"It can wait until we've got Cordy back."

Wesley frowned and handed Angel a foolscap volume. "I think it may have a bearing on her case as well. Here ... read this ..."

The words swam about the page and besides, they weren't in an alphabet Angel recognised.

"Wes, I can't ..."

"I know." Wesley indicated a small sheet of typewritten paper, resting on the pages. "Executive summary, see?"

In room 212, Cordelia dozed peacefully on the mildewed mattress. She was chained as before, but Gunn had given her a little more slack.

If there was anything of Cordy left in there, he wanted her to know they still cared. He still cared.

Restless, Gunn prowled the room, looking for chinks in the moth-eaten curtains where sunlight might poke through, trying to eke a little more warmth out of the fire he had started. The Hyperion wasn't really designed for wood fires, and he was pretty sure the hearth and fireplace were just for show. Nevertheless, the smoke was disappearing, and at present, he didn't particularly care where it was going.

"Vampires can't feel cold, you know."

Cordelia was lying on her side, smiling at him.

"No, but I can."

"Are you here to guard me, Charles?"

"No. I'm here to take care of you."

She sat up in her chains and patted the bed. Gunn acknowledged the unmistakable pull of her onyx gaze, and felt a pang of sadness that she'd never looked at him like that before, when she was human. He wasn't about the be hypnotised by a vampire this wet behind the ears, but Cordelia ... well, that was a different thing. 

"Hungry?"

The vampire licked her fingertips and smiled again, saying nothing.

In the lobby, Angel tried to make his fuddled brain accept the arguments Wesley propounded so convincingly. The upshot seemed to be something so incredible, that even though he knew Wesley was usually right and in his exhausted state he would have dearly loved to give in and end the discussion, something inside him rebelled.

"I just don't see how it could have happened."

"I know! It's incredible. But, if the manuscript is to be believed ..."

Angel gulped. "Forget the manuscript, Wes! I was there. I - I mean we - Darla, Drusilla, Spike - we turned the whole village. It was ... a joke. Because ..."

"... they were an isolated community known for their piety and the monastery was a destination of pilgrimage for many of similar levels of virtue. I know. You told me, remember?"

"It isn't possible."

"It's here, in black and white. The Slayer went to the village after rumours of a massacre reached London. The entire community survived, and was free of vampirism for several centuries afterwards."

Angel shook his head and gave up the attempt to understand. Wesley beckoned him over and indicated a glass of deep ruby liquid on the counter.

"I don't think I can, Wes. It tastes bad to me now."

"No ..." Wesley explained, "... it's for Cordy. Would you take it up to her? She and Gunn are in 212."

Angel climbed the stairs wearily. As he rounded the corner into the main first floor corridor, a snarl and a crash came reverberating through the walls. He threw the glass down and ran to the door, flinging it open in time to see an unconscious Gunn pinned down under Cordelia.

"Cordy!"

She looked up, amber eyes flashing, and then deliberately dropped her head towards Gunn's neck. 

Angel threw himself across the room, but Cordelia seemed to have the ability to move ten times quicker; he could almost measure the split seconds between his brain making a decision and his body responding. Muscles in his back and legs screamed in protest, the air about him was a glutinous fluid holding him back, and he was still several feet away when her fangs touched Gunn's neck.

"No!"

Before he reached them, Cordelia's head flew back from Gunn's throat. She squealed in agony, clutching her head and stumbled back to the bed where her chains lay limp and broken on the quilt.

"Angel, please, make it stop."

Gunn's pulse was steady and strong. After checking he was alive, Angel approached Cordelia slowly and placed a hand on her forehead. It felt cold. He felt warm. 

"What is it?"

"A vision. I had a vision. It hurts. It still hurts."

"What did you see?"

"Me. I saw me. Oh! It was ..."

"You saw yourself? What was happening?"

She smiled, "I was feeding. Corpses everywhere. Oceans of blood. All for me."

Angel moved quickly while Cordelia's eyes were closed in rapture. Before she could react he snapped the chains back on one of her wrists and retreated several feet from the bed. 

"Why would The Powers send you visions of blood?"

"What's the matter? Jealous?" Cordelia snarled.

Angel picked up the bedside telephone and pressed the button labelled "Reception".

"No, I can see you wouldn't be. Not much of a vampire these days, are you Angelus?"

Wesley took several rings to answer.

"She's taken Kate you know. She's going to kill her. Very slowly. She told me."

"Wesley? Do it now, for heaven's sake. She's getting stronger ..."

As he replaced the receiver in its cradle, he noticed the reflection of his own hand in the sheen of the Bakelite surface, and whispered an afterthought. 

"... and I'm getting weaker."


	10. The spell

A Secret Soul 9/12 

Trailing cables and motes of dust, Wesley carried the fax machine into the circle and dumped it on the floor. A waxy scroll of paper emerged from it and he bent over to read the words as the machine printed them.

"What was lost shall be found ..."

From the floor above he could hear a struggle, and then a determined thumping sound. Wesley glanced at the ceiling, before continuing to read. 

"Not dead, nor of the living. Spirits of the interregnum, I call."

Footsteps pattered overhead, as if someone was running from the front of the hotel to the rear. 

"Let her know the page of humanity, gobs ... oh for Pete's sake Giles, how did you ever get where you are today with this handwriting?"

An electrifying scream came from the stairwell.

"WESLEY!"

Wesley gave up and raced for the stairs. As he approached 212, it became obvious that something very bad had already happened. 

Outside the room the carpets were soaked in blood, and the walls were heavily splattered to waist height. Wesley pushed the door open cautiously, and was relieved to see both Angel and Gunn struggling to their feet.

"What happened? Where's Cordelia?"

"She escaped," Angel gasped, "I think she went to the upper floors."

"Escaped?" Wesley was aghast. "How?"

Gunn rubbed the muscles of his neck. 

"She broke her chains, tried to bite me." 

Angel nodded. "Hit me with the telephone. Did you do the spell?"

"Well, if I did ..." Wesley winced at the bruise forming on Angel's forehead, "I'd say it failed."

Angel sighed. "Well, you'd better try again. Gunn and I will track her down."

Gunn pointed towards the window, where light was seeping in around the edges of the curtain. "We sealed the sewers. She's not going far in this light."

While his friends checked the hotel's abandoned rooms one by one, Wesley returned to the lobby, where the fax machine was still and silent, sitting inside the magic circle under the papery cocoon of its spewed message, like the nucleus of an embryo. 

He began again.

"What was lost bloody well shall be found ..."

"You got that right."

Cordelia mocked him from the door of the lift.

Clutching fragments of flimsy paper, Wesley backed as far away from her as he could, while staying within the ring of bones. Her eyes followed him, shading by turns hungry and amused as she came into the artificial lights and reclined against the back of an armchair.

"Going somewhere? Wes ... I just got here. Stay for a drink?"

Ignoring her taunts, Wesley continued to chant.

"Not dead, nor of the living."

At the sound of the words, Cordelia's lip curled and she spat "You're gonna want to stop that." 

Wesley's practised eye scanned the pages in his hands and he blurted out the main points of the rest.

"er ... Spirits of the interregnum, I call ... et cetera ... Let her know the pain of humanity, gods! - um ... oh yes ... Reach your wizened hands to me! ... er ... and so on and so forth ... Give to me the soul of Cordelia!"

Cordelia slithered from her perch and stalked around the edge of the circle, snickering audibly. Wesley groaned.

"Bugger! Giles, you promised ... Really, is this any way to treat a friend?"

A cool, calm voice broke into the panic.

"Try it again. I've got her."

A battered, blood-soaked and lightly dusted Kate Lockley stood in the doorway, with a crossbow pointed steadily at Cordelia's back.

"Kate!" Wesley felt faint with relief. "You're alive! Is that blood? Angel will be so ..."

"Wes, spare me the Angel angle just for the moment. Say the damn spell, OK?"

"I've said it!" Wesley shook a fist of paper at her in frustration, "It doesn't work. Now, let me see, what did I miss out ..."

Cordelia backed towards the lift doors.

"Wes!" Kate yelled, "Hurry!"

"Well, there's this whole section about who can wield the spell, I missed that out because it doesn't seem to apply to us." Wesley frowned, "Then again, perhaps we do have to ask for permission."

Cordelia stretched out a hand and hit the button for the top floor. Kate cursed inwardly, as she realised Cordy somehow knew she wouldn't shoot.

"Wes! Do something!"

"OK, I'll try and ad lib..." Wesley paced the circle. "Spirits, hear me! This gift is passed on from a race who used it by right. Given freely to us by ... well, Giles, and he had it from a real gypsy! No! Blast and damn it all ... Giles got it from a witch, but she was left it by a gypsy who was trying to help, I promise!"

Nothing happened. 

"It was in the manner of a bequest," Wesley pleaded with the art deco plaster mouldings above his head. "And under American law I think that gives us certain rights ... although I haven't actually checked that ... but you know, time is very seriously of the essence here. Or, to put it another way, I'm bloody desperate, please make the spell work or we're all going to die!"

As the last words of his frantic plea died away, Wesley collapsed to the carpet. Kate flung the crossbow to the floor and raced over to him. As she reached the edge of the circle, the lift doors opened and Cordelia slipped inside. 

Wesley suddenly rose to his knees, and flashed an angry glance at his surroundings. Kate gasped as a blow to her chest from some invisible force flung her outside the circle, and at that moment, Wesley's head snapped back and he began to chant in tongues.

"Lasa orbita sa fie vasal care-i va transporta sufletul la el! Asa sa fie! Acum!"

"Oh God," muttered Kate. "I really hope that's a good sign."

Rolling over and seizing the crossbow again, she struggled to her feet and made for the upper floors.


	11. Missing Cordelia

A Secret Soul 10/? 

"Angel! Angel!!!"

Kate yelled at the walls as she took the stairs two by two, but there was no reply.

"Angel! Charles! Anybody! She's heading for the top floor!"

As she climbed higher, the genteel shabbiness of the inhabited floors gave way to real squalor. Festoons of peeling wallpaper hung on the damper walls, and cirrus clouds of mould coated the ceiling. More than once, Kate's solid, LAPD-style boot landing heavily caused a tear to appear in the rotting rust brown of the once vivid silk carpet, and a sinister scurrying started in the sodden wainscot as she passed, as smaller, furrier inhabitants of the hotel were disturbed.

The stairs kept appearing. A flight of twelve climbing northwards, followed by four pointing to the east, a turn into musty landing, four steps to the west, and the whole cycle began again. After several minutes of running in ever decreasing rectangles, Kate arrived at the top floor. There were four doors, all locked, and no-one in the corridor. At one end the lift doors were closed and motionless, and at the other was a large picture window.

Before she could catch her breath, the lift doors creaked open.

Gunn stepped out.

"Is she here?"

Kate shook her head. "All locked up. Maybe she heard me and doubled back."

"No way." Gunn shook his head. "The lift went to the top and then straight down to us. She wasn't in it. Angel's checking the stairs."

"I just came up the staircase." Kate started feeling the walls.

Gunn made a disgusted noise. 

"Then, where in God's name is she?"

Kate looked at the lift, and then exclaimed, "This can't be the top floor. There must be more above - else where's the rest of the lift shaft? There have to be weights and machinery, and ... stuff."

Gunn followed Kate's gaze upwards, and saw a square hole in the ceiling. It was black, leading to some unlit region above. She slapped his shoulder to gain his attention.

"A loft! I'm going up."

Gunn laughed. "The hell you are. I'm the one that's going up."

"I can't lift you. You can lift me. We can't wait for Angel. C'mon ..."

She linked her fingers together to indicate that Gunn should do the same, and when he complied, placed a foot into the stirrup of his hands. Their eyes locked briefly, and she smiled.

"On a count of three. Give me as much lift as you can."

As Angel rounded the last bend, he could see Gunn bent over and Kate in front of him.

"One!"

At the same time, he could see a pair of slender legs poking out of the ceiling.

"Two!"

Intending to yell "Look out!", Angel opened his mouth, and was silenced by a sudden stifling attack of wheezing. As he doubled over to suck in more air, Cordelia dropped from the ceiling onto the pair below. Bodies scattered, but she was the first to recover, and locking a firm arm around Kate's neck, dragged her away down the corridor.

"Angel!"

At once, an eddy of screaming came from the basement of the hotel. Resonating in the hollow walls, the screams echoed upwards until their full force buffeted past Angel and Gunn, and raced for Cordelia.

"ACUM!"

Angel fought to ignore the pain in his chest. He looked up and saw the two women silhouetted against the window. Beyond, the roof lay steaming gently in the morning sun, sloping down to the tangle of struts and wires that displayed the hotel's name in neon to the population of Los Angeles.

Kate was in trouble. Cordelia's hands gripped her neck, and he could sense her struggles becoming weaker through tiredness and lack of oxygen. The very breath of life was being forced out of her. There was no point in trying to loosen those hands by force; he knew he would not now be strong enough. Instead, he ran; he launched himself at Cordy and tried to fell her with the weight of his body. 

It worked too well. Cordy lost her balance and tumbled through the brittle window frame, carrying Kate and Angel with her and landing with a glittering smack on the hot leaden roof.


	12. Dust

A Secret Soul 11/12 

Compared to the damp innards of the hotel, the roof was fresh, airy and glowing.

Kate instinctively rolled to a stop beyond the semicircular pattering of falling glass. Gulping air into her raw, deflated lungs, she allowed herself a moment's relief. 

Then a cloud of dust rose around her, obscuring everything.

Her euphoria at escaping unharmed from a vampire's clutches for the second time in one day evaporated as her exhausted brain joined the dots.

Dust - Sun - Vampires

Cordy - Angel

"Oh God ... no ..."

Kate covered her face with both hands. The dust hid her, and that was good. She'd always hated weepy women.

Several feet away, Angel opened his eyes. The hazy disc of the sun was obscured, by what he didn't understand. His skin felt curiously tight and was turning a deep shade of pink. Tiny shards of glass were buried in him, but he definitely wasn't burning, in the vampire sense of the word.

Struggling to sit, he noticed that every move he made disturbed a layer of silky dust that covered this part of the roof. Billowing clouds of grey added to the smog surrounding him and he realised he couldn't see more than a few inches from his nose.

Dust. Enough to be the remains of several vampires. Where had it come from?

A chill gripped his thudding heart as he croaked, "Cordy!"

A chorus of voices replied.

"Angel?"

A gentle gust of wind washed over them, clearing the dust away like smoke, to reveal Kate, Cordelia and Angel, sitting in a triangle, each facing the other. 

Angel sprang to his feet.

"We have to get her inside. Now!"

The dust rose again as Kate and Cordy scrambled to join him.

"What the hell ...?"

"It's OK!" Wesley's voice boomed from the shattered window frame. "It's just regular dust. Accumulated up here over some time, I should imagine, and after the dry spell we've had ... I'd get out of it though. Can't imagine it's healthy to breathe."

In the hallway, Gunn joined them and the five looked from one to another and back again. 

Wesley beamed.

"So, you'll be all wanting an explanation, I should think?"

Gunn ignored him, and strode up to Cordelia in a determined way. 

"Cordy?" 

Cordelia looked startled, as if about to run.

"You're looking better. How're you feeling?"

"It hurts."

"Well," Gunn reached out and touched her arm, "It's bound to be hard at ... holy mother of God!"

Cordelia shrank away from him, into the mildewed wall.

Gunn swivelled to face the others. "She's warm!"

"Yes, she would be." Wesley smiled triumphantly. 

Gunn shook his head and turned back to Cordy, who was gulping tearfully and trying to wipe the dust from her hands.

"You see," Wesley continued, "I had a feeling this would happen. Angel was the big clue. When Angel seemed to be suffering from excess humanity, I guessed it was brought about by being around humans and doing human things and wanting to be human so badly. Having Paul and Kate around, as well as the rest of us, you know, it's bound to make its mark."

Gunn put his arms awkwardly round Cordy and kissed the crown of her head. 

"It's OK. Everything's going to be OK. I promise."

"The demon is just overwhelmed." Wesley babbled on. "Still there, but battened down. Under the thumb, if you will."

Kate fixed Angel with a steely glare. 

"You're human?"

Angel shrugged weakly. "I don't know. Maybe ... more human than I was."

"Then there was the village." Wesley waved his finger. "A whole village, turned into vampires, then seemingly recovering. I asked myself, what was the deciding factor? Well, it took me a while to figure it out, but you see, they didn't have any living blood."

"And you were going to mention this ... when?" Kate continued, regardless.

"There was almost no-one left to feed from. Except, there must have been at least one survivor. Someone must have known the restoration spell and performed it on all the villagers, one by one. I can tell you, I've done it once and that was enough. I take my hat off to him, whoever he was."

"I didn't know until yesterday." Angel bit his lip. "Kate, I swear, I had no idea."

"Newly born vampire, no chance to feed, soul restored within hours of being turned ... it's like ... taking the gift back in the original packaging. The villagers never had a chance to be vampires, and so when the restoration spell worked, they just went back to being human."

Gunn frowned. "So, Cordy ..."

Wesley smiled. "She didn't burn. And not because of the dust, either. She could walk outside at noon and I think she'd be OK."

"Not that I care." Kate shrugged. "I mean, you made it quite clear how you felt, right? What's it to me if you're human? Friends don't care about these things. Not in LA."

"It's been a lot tougher for Angel of course." Wesley shook his head sadly. "And will continue to be. But then, he does have two hundred years of vampirism to work through."

"Friends. Right." Angel nodded and stared at the carpet.

The hallway fell silent.

Gunn stopped kissing the dust away from Cordelia's brow, and looked into her surprised eyes for a long moment. Then he threw a supporting arm around her waist, and started to thread through the crowd. 

"We're going to room 212. Cordelia needs rest. I don't want to see any of you guys until tomorrow. And, Kate?"

As he passed her, Gunn thumbed in Angel's direction. "He's got a collection of your underwear in his room. That's not what friends do. Not even in LA."

Kate looked at Angel and smiled triumphantly.

Cordy turned back as the lift door opened. 

"Angel - she never talks about anything else. I think it might be .. y'know ... time."

Angel started to walk very slowly and deliberately towards Kate. As Angel advanced, Wesley made a face and started to examine his fingernails intently, one by one.

"So ... er ... any questions?"

Angel stopped and mumbled. "Curse?"

"I don't know. Really, it's difficult to be sure. I'd guess you're in control enough now to make it a non-issue. But ..."

Angel held out a hand to Kate who regarded it with a frown for several seconds, before folding her arms in a determined fashion and marching towards the stairs. Passing Angel, she jerked her head to one side to signify that he could follow if he wanted. As their footsteps receded, Wesley smiled.

"... I guess there's only one way to find out."


	13. Nothing's changed

A Secret Soul 12/12  
  
Kate leads the way to my room, never looking back. Once there, she folds her arms and paces the floor, shoulders hunched angrily.  
  
I don't have any idea what this is about. I watch her from the door for several minutes before speaking.  
  
"What is it exactly you're so pissed about?"  
  
"Is it true?"  
  
"It was just the one thing - you left it behind and I forgot to give it back."  
  
"Not that! Angel ... the other thing."  
  
It's funny. I've wanted to be human for so long and now I am, it seems to cause nothing but trouble. I shut the door behind me and lean back against it.   
  
"Wesley says ..."  
  
"I don't give a damn what Wesley says. What do you say?"  
  
"I think it's true."  
  
She pushes her hair behind her ears and nods.  
  
I wait for a moment before saying, "What's wrong?"  
  
"I've spent the day with Darla."  
  
"And?"  
  
"We talked. Then I staked her."  
  
She looks at me, straight, and I look back. The advantage of not knowing what you're being accused of is the genuine lack of guilt. I try again.  
  
"I'm glad you're OK. I'm glad you staked Darla. Did you think I'd be mad?"  
  
"She told me, Angel. She told me everything about you."  
  
"She doesn't know everything about me. And ... you knew I slept with her before we ... became involved."  
  
Almost too low to be audible, I hear her say, "That's not what I'm talking about."  
  
For the first time since coming into the room, I feel apprehensive. Like there might actually be some problem I can't fix. Something I can't overcome with reasoned argument.  
  
"What then?"  
  
"She told me about what the both of you did, back in the glory days."  
  
She's dressed in an old pair of jeans with ripped knees. They might be new and ripped for fashion, or perhaps she tore them fighting Darla, but I think not; they're clean, and accompanied by a grey, police-issue sweatshirt. Like she's been home and changed, just grabbed the first things that came to hand. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair wilder than usual.   
  
I wish for the thousandth time that I could stop noticing everything about the way she looks.  
  
"I was a vampire then."  
  
"You were a vampire last week."  
  
I ignore that. "I'm human."  
  
"Yes, she told me all about your human years too."  
  
She sighs and tucks her hands into the back of her jeans, like she used to do when interrogating a suspect. After a moment's silence I try again.  
  
"What do you want me to say?"  
  
She shakes her head.  
  
"Nothing. I just really came to tell you guys about Darla. I could do with a long bath and some sleep. I'll ... I'll get gone."  
  
"Are you coming back?"  
  
She doesn't answer.  
  
Finally I find the will to act and reach out to pull her against me. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze until she makes a small gasp and then I realise I might be hurting so I relax just a little. She's warm and musky, as if she's been running.  
  
I'm not sure what I'm doing; but I push my face into her neck to drink in more of her scent; I want to make the most of it, to drink her in while I can, store her in my memory before she leaves.   
  
"It's OK ..."  
  
She's stroking my hair and whispering soothing words to me as if I'm a child, and I have a strong and sudden realisation that I don't want to be an object of sympathy. Not to her. Not ever. I don't want to be soothed and pitied. I don't even want to be loved, not at this moment.   
  
It is her passion I covet. She should feel my frustration and pain, she should be obsessively noticing whether I've showered this morning or changed my shirt at lunchtime, she too should have this craving to be closer.   
  
I think I kiss her to prove I can, that I am human, have been so for a hundred years, not some half-formed animal with deficiencies that she has to pet and humour. Accepting, she opens her soft mouth but she's still, as if waiting for me to stop or enduring my touch for some greater purpose. Perhaps she's afraid, waiting for a chance to get away. Perhaps she's allowing it because it comforts me and she's sorry about Cordy.  
  
I can't stand that thought, but instead of being repulsed I become more sure of what I want; I have to show her what she is to me now, or be the pathetic object of her concern forever. I deliberately kiss her harder, deeper and her whispers are silenced.  
  
Under my mouth, she tries to speak, and I brake off to let her say whatever it is she's trying to say.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"It's not obvious?"  
  
"Angel ... is this a good idea? After what's happened? Are you feeling ..."  
  
"Do you still want me?"  
  
She blinks at me and looks away.  
  
"Kate, tell me. Tell me what you want."  
  
She lets out a breath and says, "I want you to ... have what you want. I don't think I know what that is. I don't want you to be hurt or damaged. Or miserable or confused. I don't want to be the cause of that."  
  
They're meaningless words to me, nothing to do with the selfish possessiveness I feel in regard of her. I slide my hands under her sweatshirt and lift it over her head. She isn't wearing anything underneath. I undo the top button of my shirt and pull it over my head, then throw both onto the floor. Her skin is bruised and covered in small cuts, just like mine. She stares at my chest and shakes her head as if confused.  
  
"Does that mean no?"   
  
She doesn't answer so I reach out and tuck my fingers into the belt loops on her waistband, and pull her back close to me. I nuzzle her neck, worrying her skin and not bothering to think about where I've bitten her and Darla's scratched and beaten her and whether it might sting. I'm hard and ready, and I made sure she's close enough to know all about it. I want her to know what she's refusing; to appreciate what she's rejecting - not in a conceited way (after all what do I have to offer now that she couldn't find elsewhere if she cared to?) - but that being a vampire wasn't the most essential thing between us, wasn't even a factor in how I felt about her, how she makes me feel now. On the contrary, the effect she has on me has always been terrifyingly human.  
  
Only she can say if that's true for her.  
  
Finally I stop and raise my head, brushing my lips over hers once. Then I take hold of her head in both my hands and make her look at me.   
  
"I want to make love to you. Now. Here. I'm not scared of it or what might come later. The only thing that matters is whether you say yes or no."   
  
"Angel ..."   
  
I steamroller on. "I'm not going to apologise for the way I was. I'm not him any more. I'm the same Angel you thought I was last week. And my heart beating - don't you see, that's just physiology. It has nothing to do with being human. It has nothing to do with us."   
  
She closes her eyes, "I thought you didn't want this. You said ..."   
  
I squeeze a little tighter with my hands until her eyes pop open again. Then I hold her gaze and take her hand and place it on my groin. "It doesn't matter. Forget what I said. The only thing that matters now is whether you want it as much as me. Do you want to feel me moving inside you?"   
  
"Angel ..."   
  
"Darla was right, I wasn't a nice man. I never was, particularly to women, particularly in bed. When I was human I took what I wanted and expected my partners to do the same. When I was with her, I was evil. I was obsessive. I liked to play games. But it doesn't have anything to do with this ... us ... If you don't want me you shouldn't make the distant past your excuse."   
  
"I'm not making excuses ..."   
  
"I don't want to play at being a lover any more, Kate. I want you. I want you to say my name because you can't help it. I want to make marks on your body with my mouth and my hands that will take hours fade, and have the thrill of see you wearing them later when we're with other people. I don't know why I want these things, it could be me or it could be the demon that wants them. And I don't care."  
  
"Please ..."  
  
"This is what I am. Is this what you want? Or did you only want it when it wasn't really going to happen?"  
  
"Please ..."  
  
"Please? Please hold me or please stop?"   
  
"Please... now. Please Angel... yes."   
  
I stumble back towards a sofa, I can't think straight enough to find the bed, and she comes down with me. She's unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them over her hips and I do the same and she watches me, then puts her hand back on me and encourages me to lie back. I wait until she's on top of me and enter her straight away. With each stoke her eyelids flutter closed and then open again, until a flush of red comes over her face. She comes, strongly and quietly.   
  
We freeze, knowing that this is it: the point of no return. If Wesley is wrong ... I want her to take over and not leave me this choice.  
  
But she won't, she's silent and watchful, and in control. Eventually I can't wait, I push her back into the cushions and sink into her. I don't hold back until I feel it - the relief of orgasm, the strong, unique sensation of pouring everything you are and everything you have into another willing human body. Past, present and future, my very identity is obliterated in the moment.   
  
As I collapse against her, she gasps and my name is expelled from her throat, like the rush of blood from a wound, like a soul taking flight, buffeting my eardrums like a gust of air, rising into the Hyperion's lofty spaces.   
  
We stare at each other and find we're still who we thought we were, before.  
  
Nothing's different. Not really. I may have changed - but that happened a long time ago.  
  
THE END  
  
Feedback is prized *way* above sanity. 


End file.
